Twelve Days of the Randomly Assorted
by IcelandGirl812
Summary: A collection of random drabbles for the TwiGirls Twelve Days of Christmas contest. Random pairings, random topics. Collab between me and the ever so lovely MentalisteECBM.
1. Prompt 1

TwiGirlsNextDoor's 12 Days of Christmas Writing Challenge; http:/www[.]twigirlsnextdoor[.]com/search/label/Contests

Collab: IcelandGirl812 and Mentalistecbm

Prompt: #1 and http:/bit[.]ly/hOTqiD

Word Count: 100

Disclaimer: We don't own, but are not afraid to hurt those that try to steal.

AN: Mental's writing the first one, because Erica is in a corner, freaking out and possibly dying over posting. Thanks to TwiGirlsNextDoor for hosting, and Erica for agreeing to even do this with me.

* * *

My mother is a real piece of blue-blooded work.

Nothing I ever did was right for her. My career, my lifestyle - my fucking _hair_.

But did that ever stop me from melting like wax and chocolate when she asked me to do something like this? That would be a _no_.

So there I walk, looking like a fucking idiot. All black, strict mohawk... and a Santa suit.

Because my mother just _had_ to pull the fucking "but the _children_" card.

Fuck the children.

Well, maybe not all of 'em. Some could be rather cute...

But for most: fuck 'em.


	2. Prompt 4

TwiGirlsNextDoor's 12 Days of Christmas Writing Challenge; http:/www[.]twigirlsnextdoor[.]com/search/label/Contests

Collab: IcelandGirl812 and Mentalistecbm

Prompt: #4 and "The best way to spread Christmas cheer, is by singing loud for all to hear."

Word Count: 100

Disclaimer: We don't own, but are not afraid to hurt those that try to steal.

AN: Erica - I'm rather fond of this one, heh. Muchos thankos to the Twi-girls for holding this contest, and Mental for being my wifey. I mean, collaber. And Rachel, for betaing.

* * *

"What do you mean you don't sing?"

"I mean I'm not a canary _or_ a mermaid. I can't carry a tune worth shit."

"But... You're a fucking _girl_! Your voices are all soft and whatnot."

"Well, you're a fucking _guy_! Let's see you go fix my junky car."

"Only if you bring me lemonade while I'm _fucking_ at it."

"I actually make quite good lemonade. Fresh-squeezed, not-too-sweet, not-too-tart..."

"Fucking unbelievable. You're..."

"Quite a fuck, in fact. Not that you'll ever get the chance to know that."

"As if I fucking want _you_, in the first place. Bitch isn't my type."


	3. Prompt 6

TwiGirlsNextDoor's 12 Days of Christmas Writing Challenge; http:/www[.]twigirlsnextdoor[.]com/search/label/Contests

Collab: IcelandGirl812 and Mentalistecbm

Prompt: #6 and http:/bit[.]ly/h38lQY

Word Count: 2021

Disclaimer: We don't own, but are not afraid to hurt those that try to steal.

AN: Erica - The Twi-Girls are awesome for cumming up with this contest, and Mental is awesome for popping my collab cherry. And you're awesome for reading. And Rachel for betaing. (Mental – this is my pride and joy, by the way.)

* * *

When we found out that she was expecting, I was elated.

Then I was angry.

At myself, at her, at our carelessness, at our lack of planning. We weren't ready for this. This wasn't planned and predicted and carefully thought-out.

I was only nineteen, for God's sake. What the fuck did I know about parenting?

Zilch. I knew zilch and zippo and zero and _nothing_.

Seriously - what the fuck was a diaper?

_That's_ how little I knew.

I'd never babysat. I was an only child who came from only children: so no cousins or any of that shit.

And she was telling me that she was pregnant? I'd had big dreams, you know? Jasper C. Whitlock, PhD. What were my chances of that happening with a child to screw it all up?

The chances were a lot closer to a big whopping goose egg, I'll tell you that much.

I didn't _want_ to be a father. I wasn't _ready_ to be a father.

I told her so.

She slapped me.

It actually hurt, damn her, but it kind of put everything into perspective and clarity.

So then, I was back to being elated.

We planned the shit out of it. Well, _she_ did.

I kind of just sat back and watched her flit about in a frenzy, a smile on my face and a feeling of pure happiness deep in my bones. No matter what happened, we'd make it good. We'd make it _something_.

It was strange, watching her practically-flat stomach grow to be a fucking basketball.

But... I found myself liking it.

Her mood swings... Not so much.

One second, she was squealing and happy over seeing a ladybug. The next second, she was horny and naked over seeing me barefooted. And the next? Slapping me for not getting on top of her. Hello, woman? Have you not seen your tum?

We had good days and bad days like that. We fought with her parents, or with mine. Standing firm together in the midst of them.

Her father thought that I was a no-good sonofabitch that only wanted their money.

My mother thought we were irresponsible youngsters rushing into things too fast.

The only one that supported us in any of it was her older brother, Edward. And that was shocking to her parents, because he was the prodigal child. If only they knew...

Edward had _quite_ the reputation in the underground world of Forks and its surrounding towns.

And his girlfriend... Jesus Harold Christ, change of subject. Let's not get into those two. They scared _me_.

Alice had been toying with names as of late. She kept trying to come up with combinations of both of ours.

It wasn't working.

For example: Jalice. Alicper. Whilen.

I'd threatened to leave if she named our child Whilen. Granted, she took it too seriously, and I got slapped (what is it with this woman and slapping?) and she then proceeded to bawl her eyes out, but I think I got my point across pretty well.

We were _going_ to name our child something _normal_. Or, well, at least relatively normal.

As normal as any child with our genes could be, anyway.

/-\

She was born on a Monday.

It was raining, but the sun managed to peek through just for her.

I called it a symbol. Because the second I saw her, she was the sun shining its first rays into my life.

My baby girl was beautiful. Her face was definitely my part. We couldn't really tell from the eyes yet, seeing as how the color wasn't fully developed, but the features left little to the imagination. And her hair... it was _something_. Her momma's brown with my blonde highlights.

She was perfect.

/-\

Even our first day back, my stone-wall parents couldn't help melting when they saw her perfection.

The same parents that had thought there was no way in fucking hell it would work out - those same parents were gushing over her.

If I hadn't been so sappy and mushy and glowy, I might've been pissed.

Her parents were worse, though. The same parents that had been trying to buy me away from Alice - those same parents were asking me if I wanted to move in, to be closer to the baby.

Alice, still full of hormones, gave them a piece of her mind.

God, I loved that woman.

/-\

The allure of perfection didn't last.

By the same time next month, I was ready to go back in time, and double-wrap it, if only to keep Alice from ever getting pregnant.

Every single _fucking_ night, she woke us up.

Alice and I didn't even live in the same house. I lived with mine, and she lived with hers. But every single _fucking_ night, I was forced to wake up in the middle of the night, and drive over to her house (it was too far to walk) and help Alice take care of the baby.

She was having post-partum depression, so it wasn't easy on her. The smallest thing made her snap and scream, and... I didn't like that. So even though she'd claimed that she could handle it by herself, I made sure that someone called me to let me know.

Every. Single. _Fucking_. Night.

/-\

Alice needed therapy.

So she was kept with me all day.

And at night, even though Alice insisted on watching her.

No matter how unbelievably whiny she was, she was _perfection_, and I loved her.

/-\

Her first Christmas was also her first birthday.

It was so _cliché_, that we would have a Christmas baby.

But... it fit.

"Dada," she giggled, completely demolishing the slice of cake we'd given her.

She hated cake, but we gave it to her for the sake of it.

Alice groaned. "_Momma_. _Momma_. Just one time, my sweet girl - please, say _Momma_."

She had been trying to get her to say Momma for months now, ever since she'd said, "Dada," during a showering session.

It wasn't working out too well.

"Dada," she giggled again, grinning with her barely-there teeth.

Alice groaned. Bella laughed, and my Ali flipped her off.

She brought up one of her stubbly little fingers, too, though it wasn't the middle one.

"You see this? You are corrupting my niece. Stoppit," Edward said, blocking her eyes with his hand.

"Pot, meet kettle. You are the reason why her second word was _fuck_."

"Yeah, but fuck is a wonderful word."

"And the middle finger is the best form of sign language."

Those people were going to make my baby know swears before she even knew her alphabet.

/-\

Her third birthday.

I wanted to get a bounce-house for her, but Alice wanted to save it for her fifth. I didn't necessarily agree, but she'd gone with my idea of a town-run Christmas theme-park the year before, even though she didn't 'do well with so many little people around'.

Other than her own, Alice didn't quite... _get along_ with children.

Me? I was in college for child psychology.

I'd get the title of 'Jasper C. Whitlock, PhD', after all.

"Daddy?" she asked me, as I drove to her birthday party with her. We were running a little late - she'd wanted to choose her own outfit - and were it not for the fact that I was scared shitless of accidents (my mom had gotten in one the year before, and almost died) I'd be speeding like fucking crazy.

"Yes, babe?" She didn't want me calling her baby, so we'd chosen _babe_ as a substitute.

"Why are ya making me close my eyes?" For a three-year-old, her speech was pretty good.

"Because it's a _surprise_, babe."

She grunted. "I _hate_ surprises, Daddy."

"You get that from your uncle. I just know it."

Her party was being held at the diner, and we'd had it decorated in all pink and ruffles - she was going through a _stage_, her grandmother said.

Stage or not, all the pink and ruffles kind of scared the shit out of me.

I'd been hoping that she'd be a _normal_ child. Normal colors, normal designs, normal... I don't know.

But I guess normal was too much to ask for, with a family like hers.

Alice had made the cake.

She _was_ a baker, after all.

It was... for lack of a better term - obnoxious.

It was... a castle, I knew that much.

What I didn't know was what drug(s) Alice was taking when she thought of it. I know that she thought of it - she didn't step outside for three days, working day, afternoon, and night on the cake.

Three was her favorite number.

It was a heart attack waiting to happen.

Someway, somehow, Alice had found pink sugar cubes. Pink sugar crystals. Pink this, pink that.

It scared me.

I think the reason why it was so wacky was because, well... Alice didn't normally do kid-friendly cakes. She worked more on the... adult side.

_Really_ adult.

"HAPPY BIRTHDAY!"

My babe whispered in my ear as we walked in to screams of birthday wishes, "Daddy... Why's there so much pink? Don't like pink no more."

You gotta be fucking kidding me.

/-\

Her fifth.

Only five years ago, my babe was born. And now, she was in school.

By herself.

Every day.

Five days a week.

To say that I'd freaked out would be an... _understatement_. I'd demanded that they let me observe her classroom, even going through such great measures as to involve Charlie, Bella's dad, and have him get me a warrant.

To say that they hated me would be an... _understatement_.

But today, my babe was five.

She could feed herself, clothe herself - she was even learning to bathe by herself.

I wasn't taking it too well.

In just ten years, she'd be fifteen, and she'd hate me.

I never wanted my babe to hate me.

/-\

"Merry Christmas, babe. And happy birthday, too."

She yawned, getting up and stretching. "Thanks, Daddy. Daddy?"

"Yeah, babe?"

"We needa move. This is way too cold. In 'lorida, they gots sun allll year."

I gasped. "No way."

She nodded very serious-like. "Yes. _Way_."

/-\

This year was going to be simple.

Of course, there was a psycho cake made by Alice herself (babe's favorite colors were now orange and black, and she _adored_ Halloween). It wouldn't be what it was if there _wasn't_, you know?

But it was just at the park.

Her day was simple - opening Christmas presents, screaming over Christmas presents, opening birthday presents, screaming over birthday presents (this kid had it good). The norm. Except that she'd gotten louder.

I'd gotten her a Nightmare Before Christmas cuff. It was adjustable, so with the smallest tweaks, it would fit any size wrist.

I don't even want to think about how much it cost.

For lunch, she had whatever she wanted to have.

She decided on steak.

For dinner, she chose candied apples.

It was _healthy_. Calm down.

/-\

She almost fainted over the cake.

My babe was a bit of a drama queen.

"Good job, Ali." She grinned, thanking me with a kiss.

Bella had to butt in. "Are you two going to live in sin for all of eternity? Seriously, Edster-"

"Don't fucking call me Edster, Isabella."

"-and I are way more hardcore, and we got married a whole three months ago."

"I'm not getting married until I'm twenty-five. I'm only twenty-three."

"But Jasper is twenty-four," Bella protested.

Alice stared blankly at her. "And?"

Then, a shriek got our attention.

Alice had put up a buttload of Christmas lights up on the trees. They were... present lights, or something equally obnoxious (Alice did well with obnoxious).

She had tangled herself in them, and with the Santa cap that I'd put on her head...

I wasn't sure if it was ridiculous or adorable.

I was aiming toward adorable.

I sighed dramatically as I walked over to her to fix her. She was grinning and giggling.

"Ashely Ava Whitlock. What in God's name am I going to do with you, babe?"


	4. Prompts 7 and 8

TwiGirlsNextDoor's 12 Days of Christmas Writing Challenge; http:/www[.]twigirlsnextdoor[.]com/search/label/Contests

Collab: IcelandGirl812 and Mentalistecbm

Prompt: #7/#8 and http:/bit[.]ly/dQ1D1W/http:/bit[.]ly/dRw6JW

Word Count: 365

Disclaimer: We don't own, but are not afraid to hurt those that try to steal.

AN: Mental - thanks to TwiGirlsNextDoor for hosting. And Erica for being awesome. And Rachel for betaing, even if she tries to kill me via Skype.

* * *

"Whatdaya want for Christmas? I need a list and shit."

"That's right, it's December again."

"Like you didn't know."

"I forgot. I've got a lot on my mind, ya know."

Instant eye-roll. "Yup. What lip gloss matches your socks, who to decapitate today, whether your thong is showing or not."

She sniffed. "I'm not wearing a thong."

Sometimes, she could be so dense.

And I hated it.

Because I'd peeked over her shoulder in Calculus-hoping for a view of boobs, obviously-enough times to see she was probably smarter than me.

"Christmas list. Give over. Now."

"You know, I wonder why I put up with you sometimes."

"I have a huge dick." Duh.

Not to mention, if I didn't date Rose, who in the hell else would I date?

No one else in town caught my eye like her.

Or piqued my interest.

Or raised my dick.

So, Rose it was.

And it was Rose that sat in the front seat of my Volvo c70, doing some of that crochet crap she had an addiction to.

"Guess I know what half of Santa's list _you're_ going to be on this year."

I turned slightly in my seat, angling enough that I could reach her lap without effort. I made that humming noise I knew she liked. "Which half are we talking here?"

She stopped her knitting shit, gaze focused on my horny hand as her only answer.

I kept driving.

/-\

We had a ritual.

And she was breaking it.

"What the fuck, Rose?" I whined. "Every since we started fucking - _making love_, I'm sorry - we've done it everyday after school. And now you're 'not in the mood'? You're always in the mood."

"Get the picture: today I'm not."

The next day, she still wasn't.

A week later, I was ready to gnaw off my own arm in frustration.

_Sexual_ frustration.

For Christmas, I just wanted her to fuck me again.

No cologne or button-down or gift card to Game Stop.

Just. Fuck. Me. Already. Woman.

This had to be because she thought I was naughty.

It just had to.

But what the fuck - wouldn't that make her want me more?

Damn women.


	5. Prompt 10

TwiGirlsNextDoor's 12 Days of Christmas Writing Challenge; http:/www[.]twigirlsnextdoor[.]com/search/label/Contests

Collab: IcelandGirl812 and Mentalistecbm

Prompt: #10 and http:/bit[.]ly/eqpOzg

Word Count: 130

Disclaimer: We don't own, but are not afraid to hurt those that try to steal.

AN: Erica - Aw, a bit of sadness ahead here. Once again, thanks to Twi-Girls and to Mental. *muah!* And Rachel. For betaing. Even if she _is_ a beetch.

* * *

It was days like these that made others think of him as a grumpy old man.

If they'd known all that he'd been through, they'd stop for a second before spewing the hateful words at him.

If they'd known that he'd lost his wife to cancer only two short years ago, they'd think twice.

If they'd known that when he was just a small child, his father had gotten killed in war, leaving his mother to care for three children alone, they'd stop and consider.

If they'd known that he had nothing to live for except for his thirty-five year old piano, they'd even apologize.

But they didn't know.

Because they didn't bother to ask.

They saw, and they assumed, and they didn't question why.

And it broke his heart.


	6. Prompt 11

TwiGirlsNextDoor's 12 Days of Christmas Writing Challenge; http:/www[.]twigirlsnextdoor[.]com/search/label/Contests

Collab: IcelandGirl812 and Mentalistecbm

Prompt: #11 and http:/bit[.]ly/egMoqy

Word Count: 130

Disclaimer: We don't own, but are not afraid to hurt those that try to steal.

AN: Erica - Twi-Girls gets my love for contest-hosting, Mental gets it cause she's her. And cause she collabed with me, despite my moments of fail. You get it for reading. And Rachel gets it for amazing betaing.

* * *

Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the house, every creature was stirring, even their pet mouse.

"I cannot believe that you've never seen Nightmare Before Christmas, Esme. Such a shame."

"Yeah, Mom. You're like, seventy years older than me." Her daughter laughed at the finger she received and continued, "and I've seen this movie, at the very least, ten times."

"Is it my fault if I've never come across an opportunity to watch it?"

"Obviously. It's been sitting here, in the movie cabinet since I was five. I'm nineteen."

"Shhhhh! The movie's starting," the father and husband said.

"What the... I thought it was a Christmas movie? Why does it start off with Halloween?"

Her daughter answered.

"Because everything Tim Burton does is strange, fucked-up, and unbelievably epic."


	7. Prompt 14

TwiGirlsNextDoor's 12 Days of Christmas Writing Challenge; http:/www[.]twigirlsnextdoor[.]com/search/label/Contests

Collab: IcelandGirl812 and Mentalistecbm

Prompt: #14 and http:/bit[.]ly/hHPyGV

Word Count: 240

Disclaimer: We don't own, but are not afraid to hurt those that try to steal.

AN: Mental - Thanks to TwiGirlsNextDoor for hosting. This one is pretty much all Erica, and I love it. And her. And Rachel. And Tom Felton. *cough*

* * *

Every. Fucking. Year.

_Every_ year she made me put up the damn lights.

In the _exact_ same way!

I never got to switch things up, or change a single thing, or modernize anything.

She'd been doing her Christmas lights like this since I could remember.

And no way could I ever win the argument of updating the lights.

Oh no. Heaven fucking forbid.

All of this was my own fault, anyway. I got hooked into being manipulated by her.

Just like always; no surprise there.

I should have learned though. Thirty years old and I hadn't learned my lesson yet.

That was two years ago, when my lack of lesson led to my current situation.

My failure of a father had finally deserted, and my mom had gone into a cleaning frenzy.

She always cleaned when problems arose.

Only this time, she wasn't twenty-five and going into a cleaning flurry because Janet Whitlock had dissed her by not showing up to her annual Christmas party.

This time, she was over fifty and going into a whirlwind of cleaning because her husband of thirty-some years finally left her.

And this time she slipped on the freshly-mopped kitchen floor and fell down the backdoor steps.

She was my mother. I couldn't _not_ say I'd move back home for a few months to help her.

That was two years ago.

And I had yet to find a way to get the hell out.


	8. Prompts 15 and 16

TwiGirlsNextDoor's 12 Days of Christmas Writing Challenge; http:/www[.]twigirlsnextdoor[.]com/search/label/Contests

Collab: IcelandGirl812 and Mentalistecbm

Prompt: #15/#16 and http:/bit[.]ly/gqCn4p-http:/bit[.]ly/eFlCD8

Word Count: 500

Disclaimer: We don't own, but are not afraid to hurt those that try to steal.

AN: Erica - The Twi-Girls are amazing, as is Mental. Reading this makes you fall there too. (Mental AN-jacking: this is my second pride and joy. Le sigh.) Thanks to Rachel.

* * *

It was wrong.

It was wrong.

It was wrong.

I kept repeating the words to myself, over and over and over again, trying to make them, in some shape of form, true.

But I couldn't.

Because _oh my god_, how could something so wrong be so unbelievably right?

Staring at her in the snow-cheeks red and smile more brilliant than that very snow-tromping about gleefully with my little girl, I knew without a doubt it'd been right.

Only, it was wrong.

Wrong, wrong, wrong.

Just... wrong.

And it was wronger still that I _wanted_ it to be right. That I wanted it to be okay for us to lose ourselves in what we'd started.

And yet we couldn't.

She was too young, I was too old - the reason didn't matter.

We couldn't.

But that didn't mean that I didn't want to. _God_, did I want to. I wanted to have her in my arms again, to be inside her, to feel and touch and kiss all of her - but I couldn't.

Not now, not ever.

I swallowed that bitter pill and tried to keep a happy face on for my Cupcake.

Temptation herself looked up at me mid-swallow, eyes catching mine.

"Riley? What's wrong?"

As if she didn't know.

"Nothing. Just... Thinking?"

She didn't reply, choosing to go back to playing with my daughter. She only spoke to me when absolutely necessary nowadays.

It hurt.

I knew that it was my fault, but still - _it hurt_.

If I'd only told it back to her, if I'd only responded instead of saying that I didn't and walking away... we wouldn't be in this mess. It wasn't like I was married. No, she'd long since walked out on us.

But my fucking brain kept telling me _no_. Kept telling me that _it wasn't right_.

And I'd believed it.

I'd believed it and probably blown my chance.

Now, I had to live with that decision.

With seeing her every day after school, hers and mine and my Cupcake's, and not being able to have her.

I _wanted_ to have her.

And this time, I would.

So later that day, after I'd put Cupcake to bed, I ran down the stairs, calling out as she opened the door, "Wait!" Her hand lingered on the door, but she didn't open it.

She didn't turn around, either.

"Wait. Please."

She took her hand off the door.

I stopped right behind her, leaning in close, close, close to whisper in her ear.

"I think that possibly, maybe, I'm falling for you."

The same words that she'd whispered to me the last time we were _together_, wrapped in my arms in all her naked glory. I hadn't said them back then. But goddammit, I couldn't do it anymore.

If what we felt for each other was wrong, I absolutely, positively never wanted to be right.

Turning, and with a tear falling down her face, she said to me:

"And I think that I've already fallen."


	9. Prompt 17

TwiGirlsNextDoor's 12 Days of Christmas Writing Challenge; http:/www[.]twigirlsnextdoor[.]com/search/label/Contests

Collab: IcelandGirl812 and Mentalistecbm

Prompt: #17/#18 and http:/bit[.]ly/hHkyVM and http:/bit[.]ly/fjC9Wy

Word Count: 226

Disclaimer: We don't own, but are not afraid to hurt those that try to steal.

AN: Erica - Writing these with Mental has been a total blast. Thank you, Twi-Girls, for inspiring us with your contest. :) And Rachel for betaing.

* * *

"Momma! Come on! Santa's going back to the North Pole today. We needa hurry up!"

I rolled my eyes, coming out of the room. I'd been in there for all of two minutes. But in five-year-old time, that was more like two hours.

"I'm here, I'm here. Got your list?"

If she'd forgotten her list, she would have freaked out and bust out crying in the middle of the mall.

Christmas, in her opinion, was more important than her birthday.

/-\

"Hi, little girl! What would you like for Christ – oh, you already have your list. So prepared."

Santa was... wow. I wouldn't mind being a naughty girl for him.

Wow.

We were the only ones in his area (not even the elves were there), and some of the few people at the mall. It was going to close in five minutes, so sane people had left a good while ago. But dammit, she was going to get her picture with Santa, or she would be whining for the next year.

Santa looked up at me, after Ava had gotten down, and ran toward the playarea, very nearby.

"Would Mommy like to sit on Santa's lap, too? I can promise that you'll enjoy it."

His voice was low and smooth and sex and perfect and sex and sex and sex and sex and...

Sex.

Fuck.


	10. Prompt 19

TwiGirlsNextDoor's 12 Days of Christmas Writing Challenge; http:/www[.]twigirlsnextdoor[.]com/search/label/Contests

Collab: IcelandGirl812 and Mentalistecbm

Prompt: #19 and http:/bit[.]ly/hoJ23J

Word Count: 100

Disclaimer: We don't own, but are not afraid to hurt those that try to steal.

AN: Mental - Thanks to TwiGirlsNextDoor for hosting. Erica for being Erica. You for being you, and Rachel for being Rachel. And Tom Felton for conceiving my first child.

* * *

We'd fallen.

But we weren't broken.

The wind had slithered through our door.

And rustled the Christmas tree.

A few ornaments had fallen.

We had carpet though.

Nothing had broken.

Just fallen.

Sometimes, you had to fall.

Sometimes, it woke you up to feel yourself crash to the dirt.

Sometimes, falling helped you climb higher when you picked yourself back up.

I clung to the sometimes.

Held on to them as tight as I could.

Because, if I didn't, I was afraid someone might walk by and step on the ornaments.

And then we'd be broken.

Instead of just fallen.


	11. Prompt 22

TwiGirlsNextDoor's 12 Days of Christmas Writing Challenge; http:/www[.]twigirlsnextdoor[.]com/search/label/Contests

Collab: IcelandGirl812 and Mentalistecbm

Prompt: #22 and http:/bit[.]ly/gKOvMo

Word Count: 100

Disclaimer: We don't own, but are not afraid to hurt those that try to steal.

AN: Erica - Thank you so much for reading, the Twi-Girls for hosting, and Mental for writing with me. I heart each and every one. And Rachel and betaing.

* * *

"Stay."

"I really can't, Carlisle. It's already so late..."

"You can't go out there, darling. Your coat isn't warm enough."

"Then lend me yours. But... have you any idea what people will think? It's almost eight o'clock, and I'm still at your house!"

"Let them think what they want."

"My father... my mother..."

"Would not expect you to go out in such weather."

"My brother will stay up waiting."

"Then let him wait."

"This just is not socially acceptable, Carlisle!"

"Dear, _I'm_ not socially acceptable."

"Well, alright... Maybe just a few minutes more..."

"How about a drink while you wait?"


	12. Prompt 24

TwiGirlsNextDoor's 12 Days of Christmas Writing Challenge; http:/www[.]twigirlsnextdoor[.]com/search/label/Contests

Collab: IcelandGirl812 and Mentalistecbm

Prompt: #24 and http:/bit[.]ly/fPNtyz

Word Count: 110

Disclaimer: We don't own, but are not afraid to hurt those that try to steal.

AN: Mental - Thanks to TwiGirlsNextDoor for hosting. Erica for keeping me sane when I'm about to freak out. Rachel for forcing me to post by witholding Tomporn (the horror, truly) and agreeing to beta this thing three hours before it was due. And Erica again, because there really are no words as to how much I j'adore you, babe. Many less than threes.

* * *

"You can't just _uninvite_ someone for Christmas!"

"It's _my_ house! And last year, he peed on the tree with three-year-old Brady standing right next to him!"

"What about Victoria and Jared?"

"No. They got shitfaced-drunk and started to strip in the kitchen."

"Fine, but you _have_ to invite Leah and Kate. They always bring that amazing chocolate thing."

"No way. They started making out last year. I had to deal with five weeks of Lucy practicing on her dolls. Five. Weeks."

"Nuh-uh. Where was I?"

"It was while you were away, and then in the hospital. Plus, by the time you'd get back, she would stop."

"How could I forget?"


End file.
